


The Man Who Failed

by lyryk (s_k)



Series: Pleiades [3]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Space, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-18
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2025825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. In a world in which power has gone horribly wrong and anarchy seems to be the only solution, Commander James Norrington must also deal with the unexpected return of someone he thought he’d lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_For crimes against God, King and Union, you are hereby sentenced to death._

The cold, metallic voice sounded hollow in the small courtroom, attended only by select members of the press and the King’s elite hand-picked jury. Judge Mercer dropped his gavel, and James found himself hauled roughly to his feet by two members of the Peace Force. With his elbows and wrists bound securely behind his back with the specially commissioned steel bands that the King’s Forces used to subdue their prisoners, he had little choice but to let himself be hauled back to his cell and shoved inside. A similar metal band had been fastened across his mouth and around his head, with a metal protrusion forced between his teeth, much like the bits that had been used in horses’ mouths when there had still been horses on the planet.

Through the bars of the cell, James could see that the sky was as grey and covered by smog as it had been for most of his life. If he searched as far back in his memory as he could, he could almost remember when the sky had been blue, in the days before the War, before there had been a King and a Union. There was no time to think now, for punishments these days were carried out swiftly. He knew it was a matter of minutes before they would come for him. Already the small broadcast console high up on the gleaming wall was announcing news of his imminent demise. He recognised the carefully made-up woman with the dark blonde ringlets on the screen as a former junior officer in the Special Strike Force, who had been ‘promoted’ from her station to broadcast propaganda for the Union on what was now the only broadcasting channel on the air. It was mandatory for every home to have a broadcasting console in every room, and the instrument could not be switched off or removed. James glanced up at the screen despite himself, watching the broadcaster’s plastic lips move with mechanical ease.

_James Norrington, former Commander of the Union’s Special Strike Force and three-time recipient of the Military Cross for bravery, has just been sentenced to death for his role in the attack on the Royal Flagship Endeavour earlier this week. Strike Force soldiers have been commended by the King—blessed be his name—for their swift apprehension of former Commander Norrington, who, it has now been confirmed, was a voluntary accomplice in the despicable assassination attempt against the King—may he rule forever—three days ago. Had it not been for the prompt actions of the Protection Squad, the attackers may have succeeded in their attempt to..._

The sound faded to mute, signalling that the doors were about to open. Unsurprisingly, it was Mercer who entered, flanked by two Peace Force soldiers who pushed James to his knees and locked his ankles against the floor with more steel bands. As they were finishing, the door opened again and Captain Gillette burst in.

‘Judge Mercer, I must protest this sentence. As I have repeatedly told the Jury, the physical description of the masked leader of the group of assassins does not even remotely match the height and build of Commander Norrington, and—’

‘ _Former_ Commander, Captain Gillette, and you would do well to remember that,’ Mercer said in his steel voice. His thorax had been permanently damaged because of injuries sustained during the War, forcing him to use a voice synthesiser.  

‘I beg your pardon, Judge Mercer. But I really must insist—’

‘That will be _enough_ , Captain.’

Andrew cast a desperate glance in James’s direction, and James tried to communicate with him using only his eyes. If Andrew pushed too hard, they would be swift to brand him as an accomplice and murder him alongside James, and his loss as well as James’s would mean that there would barely be anyone left to minimise the damage enforced by the military forces.

Gillette opened his mouth again, and James shook his head at him, trying to keep the movement as imperceptible as possible, although he had no doubt that Mercer’s tiny, sharp eyes would be watching his every move.

‘Leave us before I have you removed, Captain Gillette,’ Mercer said in his toneless voice. Andrew cast a helpless glance at James before he left, pure devastation on his face, and James hoped fervently that he would be able to keep himself in check after the execution. They’d been working alongside each other for over six years now, and had formed a lasting friendship, one of the few things of value that James had left. However, there was a greater cause to devote themselves to than their personal regard for each other, and he hoped that Andrew would be able to remember that and act accordingly, for his own sake as much as the sake of those he would be able to help.

 

\--

 

Three months ago, Mercer had been quite different in his dealings with James. The King was wary of him, but James had proved his loyalties to the Royal Forces more than once by bringing several notorious outlaws to justice, and His Majesty had reluctantly agreed on three separate occasions to Prime Minister Swann’s recommendations that James be awarded the Military Cross.

Truth be told, James had long since lost any sense of loyalty to the Forces. After the War, two distinct branches of the military had formed: the Strike Force and the Peace Force. The Strike Force had penetrated almost every habitable world in the galaxy, forcing citizens of distant lands to surrender to the rule of the Union, or be destroyed. The Peace Force was the branch of the military that ostensibly maintained law and order on every planet, but which was little more than a glorified militia that had the authority to arrest, torture or generally abuse any citizen of the Union in any way that it chose to.

It was twelve weeks ago, almost to the day, when Mercer had finally found something to pin against James: the first attack of the masked group of what the King’s Forces had quickly branded ‘terrorists’. The attack had been targeted against a convoy of tanks that had been set to storm a gurdwara at the edge of the Thar Desert, where some five-hundred odd Sikhs had barricaded themselves, insisting that they were unarmed and that they only wanted a place to go on practising their way of life the way they had done for centuries.

Mercer was having none of it, of course, and had given the Strike Force orders to storm the centuries-old temple and destroy it if necessary. James had protested vehemently against the move, since he was superficially still the Commander of the Strike Force, even if Mercer had repeatedly been overriding his authority with the King’s sanction. With the King’s endorsement of Mercer’s actions, James had had little choice but to step back, although he refused to participate in the ghastly operation himself. The only thing that had prevented his being court-martialled at the time was his immaculate record.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. As the Strike Force’s heavy tanks had rumbled out into the desert toward the temple, they had been attacked from the air by light, speedy craft that were black as night and swift as lightning, giving the military forces no choice but to retreat. Seven out of twelve tanks had been disabled by the ‘terrorists’, and the rest had fled to safety.

Mercer had been furious, and had demanded James’s immediate dismissal from the military, insisting that his refusal to participate in the operation had been no coincidence, and that he was clearly in league with the attackers. Following his very vocal protests, James had been called in to a meeting with the King himself.

The King had recently taken to staying aboard his Royal Flagship, and James privately thought, as he knew from reading the underground newspapers that many civilians did, that the King’s virtual disappearance from public life was a sign of cowardice. James had never thought any ship ugly, but the _Endeavour_ , all stiff weaponry and heavy armour, came close.

The King himself was as diminutive as his ship was large, reminding James of a legendary figure he had read about. J. Edgar Hoover, James had been fascinated to learn, had had his office designed in such a way that it augmented the smallness of his person, so that people entering his territory would be in awe of him. The King’s diminutiveness had itself become legendary now, so little had he been seen in public. In private circles, the tongue-in-cheek rumour circulated that his very diminutiveness was the source of his power.

‘You may sit,’ he said quite grandly as James entered the throne room and bowed perfunctorily. He repressed his amusement and sat down in the chair indicated by a wave of the King’s small, pale hand.

‘This won’t do, James,’ he said gravely, with an injured sniff. In his white robes, he looked like nothing as much as a giant rabbit. James refrained from saying anything, and tried to look politely attentive.

‘You’re antagonising Mercer far too much,’ he went on, waving a careless hand. ‘Some port?’ He poured himself a glass of wine as he spoke. ‘No? You’re quite sure? It’s rather excellent. You know Mercer is invaluable to me, just as much as you are. You both are my eyes, ears, arms and legs, while I am forced to stay shielded from those who would destroy the heart of our glorious Union.’ He paused a moment for effect, and then said: ‘Me.’

James merely said, ‘Of course, Your Highness.’

‘Stay out of trouble with Mercer, James,’ he said pleasantly, sipping his wine and sighing with pleasure. ‘Next time, I won’t put in a good word for you.’

 

\--

 

There had been a few ‘next times’, none of which had gone particularly well for James, although it was gratifying to see how much Mercer was fazed by every successful attack launched by the unidentified group of terrorists. His Majesty had not summoned James again, but his military authority had been severely curtailed by the Royal Court, which was now the overriding power everywhere, answering directly to the King.

It was the most recent attack, on no less than the _Endeavour_ itself, that had finally gotten the Court’s hands around James’s throat, so to speak. Video reports from the ship’s security systems had captured a few glimpses of the masked assassins, and several had been presented by the prosecutors as ‘evidence’ that James had been the leader of the group. On the night after the assassination attempt, Captain Gillette and Lieutenant Groves had begged him to go into hiding, fearing Mercer’s wrath. James had, however, known that there would be no place on the planet that he could hide from the Royal Forces. Nor had he wanted to. The only safe place was far away from the planet he called home, and he could not bring himself to abandon his cause at that point.

Which was why James now found himself secured to the floor of his cell as Mercer towered over him, a sneer on his usually expressionless face.

‘Well, _Commander_ , it looks like you’re finally where you belong,’ he said in a tone that might have been gleeful, had his voice not been mechanical.

He wrenched James’s head back by his hair and touched a panel on the metal contraption around his head that released his mouth.

‘As if.’ James’s voice was a little hoarse.

‘What?’ he frowned.

‘It looks _as if._ ‘Looks like’ is ungrammatical in the context of your sentence. Surely they taught you that in elementary school.’

He flushed. ‘Tell us the names of your accomplices, and I will see if _your_ sentence can be reduced to something less harsh.’

‘You know as well as I do that I have nothing to do with them.’

He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I was hoping you’d be noble to the end. Noble, but foolish. Far too foolish, Norrington. I’ll be rid of your interfering ways very soon.’

‘I’m happy for you.’

He laughed. ‘Goodbye, _Mister_ Norrington.’

Scarcely a quarter of an hour later, James found himself secured to the public execution platform that Mercer had had erected in the courtyard of Fort Charles. Every day saw several executions take place in the open area. The platform was made of aluminium, and electricity would be run through it, instantly killing prisoners who were bound by their metal shackles. It was a crude deterrent to the watching public, a reminder about what would happen to them if they dared defy King and Union, although every day, fewer numbers came out to witness the ghastly killings.

Given James’s high profile, the crowd was fairly large that day. He wondered what it was that made him remain calm, in what were meant to be the last few minutes of his life. Perhaps it was just that the sentence was being carried out so swiftly that he hadn’t had time to think about it. He’d been made to kneel again and his boots removed, the metal shackles going around his bare ankles this time, to ensure direct contact between the fatal charge of electricity and his skin, although he doubted that his boots would have protected him against the lethal charge. The metal gag was back in his mouth as well, and his arms had not been freed at all. At least that much metal would ensure that death would come quickly. The platform was raised high, and he could not have seen the faces of the people who had come to witness the event even if he’d wished to. He looked to the sky instead, and tried again to recall how blue it had been during his childhood. What was that song? _Eyes of the bluest skies, as if they’d thought of rain._ Only, the eyes he was thinking of at the moment weren’t blue at all. 


	2. Chapter 2

As if on cue, a dark, graceful ship glided to a stop above James’s head. He felt a familiar tremor through his body as the ship’s tractor beam fixated on his coordinates, and a moment later he was kneeling on a cold black floor, his arms still bound and his mouth still secured fast, as the ship moved swiftly away. It had taken less than ten seconds from the ship’s arrival to its departure, and by the time he had recovered from his surprise, a door opened somewhere above him, and a slender, masked figure descended the black stairs toward him.

He reached beneath James’s chin to unlock the gag as Mercer had done so recently, except that his touch was as light as Mercer’s had been harsh.

‘Are you injured?’ he asked, his hand still cupping James’s chin, his voice disguised by the mask that stretched over his face and throat like a second skin. James shook his head, looking up at the man. The mask had narrow, glassy slits covering the wearer’s eyes. It was state-of-the-art equipment, even more advanced than the protective suits worn by the Royal Forces, as was the rest of the close-fitting black outfit that he was wearing.

He said no more, but stepped behind James to release the metal restraints on his wrists and elbows. ‘Crude,’ he muttered in distaste, kicking them away as he held out his hand to help James to his feet. James took his hand, for several hours of being shackled had all but put his limbs to sleep.

‘Take off your mask,’ he said when he was on his feet.

James could almost feel the man grin beneath the mask. ‘You know who I am.’

‘I need to be sure.’

‘You _are_ sure,’ he said calmly.

‘Stop fucking with me.’

‘I saved your fucking life, Norrington.’

‘I don’t recall asking you to,’ James snapped.

‘You could at least pretend to be a little grateful,’ he shot back.

‘I was perfectly willing to die today.’

‘For what? King? God? Union? All that wonderful horseshit they fill people’s ears with, down there in that cesspool where you live?’

‘That cesspool’s called the Earth, and yes, I would die trying to restore her to the planet I once knew her to be, even if the attempt were in vain.’

‘You’re too noble for your own good, Norrington.’

‘Perhaps you’re too selfless for your own good, Sparrow.’

He wrenched the mask off his face, long dark hair spilling around his shoulders. ‘Don’t you mean self _ish_? And that’s Captain Sparrow to you, Commander.’

‘If you were truly selfish, you wouldn’t have come back, _Captain_.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘And just what do you reckon I came back for?’

James shrugged. ‘Some half-forgotten sense of loyalty to the cause of freedom, I _reckon_.’

‘Well, you’re wrong. I’m not loyal to any cause. Savvy?’

They stared at each other for a moment, and memory transported James back to when he’d last seen Jack, over a year ago.

‘I need to get us out of range, before Beckett’s bloody fleet blows us to pieces,’ Jack said, handing James a key card. ‘Get some rest. You look dead on your feet.’

 

\--

 

The lift glided to a stop, and James slid the key card through the slot in front of him. The door slid open silently, and he stepped into the Captain’s private chamber. It was almost completely black, from the thick carpeting on the floor to the sparse furniture. Soft golden light filled the cabin as soon as he entered, making it seem warm and welcoming. He sat down in one of the black, shapeless chairs, which moulded itself to fit his body instantly. 

He must have fallen asleep, for when he opened his eyes next, it was with a start, as he realised he was no longer alone. The sight that greeted his eyes was truly astonishing.

An entire wall of the cabin had been transformed into a transparent window that looked out on the universe, and the Earth was framed perfectly in it. No matter how many times James viewed his home planet, he felt the same way. The Earth was the most beautiful planet he’d ever seen, still seeming pristine from a distance, with the brilliant blue of her waters and the snowy white of her atmosphere. The lights of the cabin had been turned off, and the sight was even more ethereal in the dim silvery light of the stars that shone through the window.

His rescuer turned around from where he had been standing beside the window. ‘Like the view?’

‘It’s beautiful,’ James said simply.

Jack nodded. ‘Have to agree with you there.’ 

‘Are we in orbit?’

‘Yes. I have the shields on, so I daresay we have a while before your precious military notices the _Pearl_ ’s still around.’

‘Jack,’ James said wearily. ‘You know I don’t subscribe to their—’

‘I know,’ he cut in quickly. The lights came back on, softer than they had been earlier, but he left the window uncovered. ‘You should sleep on the bed,’ he observed, handing James a bottle. ‘That’s what it’s for.’

James laughed, clinking the bottle against Jack’s before taking a sip. ‘I don’t know when my eyes closed, but the chair’s quite comfortable.’

He grinned. ‘I aim to please.’ He threw himself on the bed and leaned back against the oversized black pillows, his ankles crossed, the very picture of the languid grace James remembered so well.

‘Where have you been? This past year?’

‘Oh, everywhere,’ he said lightly. ‘Places your Beckett hasn’t even heard of, I’ll bet. So much for being king of the universe.’

‘Stop calling him my Beckett, or I’ll—’ James stopped, unable to think of a suitable threat.

‘Or you’ll what?’ he teased softly, taking another sip of rum from his bottle, his eyes never leaving James’s.

James shook his head. ‘Incorrigible as ever.’

‘I should hope so,’ he grinned. ‘Come closer, so you can threaten me better.’

James stayed still, watching him. Jack held out his hand. ‘Captain’s orders.’

James went over to the bed. ‘Commanders outrank Captains,’ he said absently, looking at the way Jack’s eyes caught the light. 

‘Do they now.’ Jack’s fingertips brushed James’s sleeve, and he hooked a finger under the cloth over James’s wrist, tugging gently. 

James sat down at the edge of the bed, and Jack’s hand rested lightly on the nape of his neck. He rubbed gently, making James aware that his body was still taut with tension after his close brush with death. ‘Easy,’ Jack murmured. ‘Relax. Just relax.’

‘I can’t stay, Jack,’ James murmured, his eyes closed, even as he tried to still his thoughts.

‘You need to rest first,’ Jack said, still in that same soft voice. ‘Come, lie down.’ 

Too tired to think, James obeyed without arguing. Jack slipped out of bed and pulled a blanket over James, sitting down next to him and resting his hand on his head for a moment. ‘Do you need something to help you sleep?’

James looked up into his dark eyes, and the thought came to mind that even though Jack always seemed surrounded by danger and excitement, James had never felt safer than he did when Jack was close. 

‘James?’ 

James shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Rest,’ Jack said again, before getting to his feet and turning out the lights.

 

\--

 

It felt as if James had barely closed his eyes before a hand was on his shoulder. He was instantly wide awake, knowing something was wrong.

‘I hate waking you so soon, but—’ Jack inclined his head toward the window, which was now a broadcasting screen. James sat up and watched as the same blonde announcer related the story of Captain Andrew Gillette’s trial for treason.

He threw off the blanket and got out of bed. ‘He needs help.’

‘Do you still have the identification chip?’ Jack asked. James nodded. ‘Then they’ll find you the moment you land.’

‘Not if I go underground first. I’ve heard the Resistance has found a way to disable the identification codes.’

‘What if they can’t help?’

‘Then I’ll work out another way.’

Jack opened his mouth, and then shut it gain, shaking his head. ‘As you wish, Commander.’

‘Jack—’

He touched a finger to James’s lips, cutting him off. ‘It’s all right. I get it.’

James clasped his wrist. ‘Thank you. You saved my life.’

Jack shook his head, and said nothing.

 

\--

 

James hadn’t been underground since before the War, but one of his informants had told him about an unauthorised transporter location beneath the streets of the city, and Jack reluctantly agreed to drop him off there. The _Pearl_ would not be able to stay long, for even her shields could not evade the military’s tracking system for long, and it would be suicide for Jack and his crew to linger. 

He walked back with James to the teleporter, and handed him a pistol and a mask similar to his own as James stepped on to the platform. ‘Be careful,’ he said simply.

James nodded. ‘Get away as soon as you can.’

He said nothing, but took a step closer to James and touched his forehead. His fingers trailed down slowly to James’s lips, caressing his face lightly. It was a protective gesture he had made before, the last time being when they had parted a year ago. He activated the teleporter, his inscrutable gaze holding James’s until they vanished from each other’s sight.


	3. Chapter 3

James was amazed by how much the underground had changed. When he had last been there, it had been little more than a ghetto for the indigent and the homeless. Now, it looked like a war zone. The Resistance fighters had transformed it completely.

He made his way swiftly to the headquarters of the Resistance. It was only a matter of time before Mercer thought of looking for him underground, and he had no way of knowing how much time he had. The military could track him anywhere on the planet because of the identification chip embedded in his brain. Once it was implanted, it was impossible to remove it without killing the subject, but James hoped his information had been accurate, and that the Resistance had indeed found a way to disable the chip.

The heart of the Resistance was a ship that had been buried underground for over a decade now. The captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ had been forced to go into hiding when Beckett had come into power, and he had by now established himself as the master of the underground. It was said that even the toughest of Mercer’s men were afraid to go into Davy Jones’s lair.

James had never met Jones, who was more legend than man. Many above ground even doubted that he existed, claiming that he was nothing more than an old maritime legend. Thanks to Jack’s past dealings with him, James knew that he was very much real. As he approached the vicinity of the ship, old stories came to mind of how Jones had once commanded a fierce creature that had frightened even the gods of the sea. Legend had it that the creature and the _Dutchman_ had merged into a single entity, making the ship a living, breathing thing that Jones could control with his mind. It was hard to tell where the ship ended and its surroundings began, making James wonder if the ancient tales were indeed true, for it seemed as if the ship had curled invisible feelers into the alleys and buildings around it. Even before his eyes caught sight of it, he could sense a great presence ahead of him, a silently beating heart that seemed to pulsate in angry despair. 

He had worn the mask Jack had given me, but now took it off as he approached the great ship. He had no doubt that the Resistance would be aware of his death sentence and his escape, and it was in his best interests now to appear as himself, and let them know that an enemy of Beckett’s would be a friend of theirs.

 

\--

 

‘Let me see if I have this right, Commander,’ Jones said quietly, in a voice that was somehow both rich and rasping at once, as if he rarely used it. ‘You have come here to make an extraordinary request, and expect to give nothing in return for what you ask?’

‘If there is anything in my power that I can give you, you shall have it, Captain.’ James kept eye contact with him, willing him to trust his words. Curiosity was trying to get the better of him, and he longed to look around, for Jones’s cabin was a fascinating place. The very walls seemed to throb with an unseen presence, and James wondered if the slight tremors that seemed to vibrate through the floor were only in his imagination. Had he not known that they were on land, he might have imagined that they were on the ocean, with the swell of waves against the hull of the giant ship. The dark walls of the cabin glowed greenly, further adding to the illusion that they were under water rather than land. It struck him then that perhaps the tales of old were true, and that Captain Jones had tried to simulate for himself a sense of being surrounded by the ocean.

Jones leaned forward with his palms on the table between them, his ancient eyes reading James’s face. ‘Do you know what is required from every living being that boards this ship?’

‘I have heard that you are a harvester of souls.’

‘Indeed I am, James Norrington.’ He blinked slowly, and then turned to the large, dark window behind him. Although it afforded no view he stared for several moments, as if at something that was visible only to him. ‘Do you like music, Commander?’ he said after a while, his voice sounding as if it were coming from far away.

Before James could answer, the _St Matthew Passion_ began to play. He sat still through the first movement, certain that this was some kind of test, but unsure of what exactly Jones was testing. Despite the somewhat perilous situation James was in (for by this time he was fairly certain that the tales had been true, and that his life would be forfeit), the music helped calm his frayed nerves. He focused his attention on Jones’s appearance, studying the broad, straight back, the skin that sagged tiredly under his eyes, and the hooked nose that gave him a slightly predatory air. 

‘What did you think?’ Jones said as the first movement ended.

‘I live for Bach,’ James said as calmly as he could.

Jones smiled. ‘Do you now.’

Hearing the same phrase that Jack had used, albeit in an utterly different manner from Jones’s, distracted James completely for a moment as he wondered where the _Pearl_ had gone after teleporting him back to the Earth. James had what he suspected to be a fairly accurate sense of Jack’s recent activities, although he could not help but wonder why Jack hadn’t taken him into confidence. Perhaps it was just that the severe lack of time had curtailed them from reuniting in a manner befitting their long separation—or perhaps it was an estrangement—from each other. 

He shook himself from his brief reverie to find Jones studying his face with thoughtfulness, almost as if he were reading his mind. Uneasy at the thought, James spoke perhaps a little more harshly than he should have. ‘What is it that you would have from me?’ 

For a fleeting moment, a smile seemed to play around the corners of Jones’s mouth, but it was gone before James could be certain that it had been there. ‘You had a ship, did you not?’

‘The Royal Forces have many ships at their disposal.’

‘Ah, but I speak of the one that was dear to your heart. You know the one I mean.’

James nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

‘What was her name?’ Jones went on, his gaze relentless.

‘The _Dauntless_.’

‘A fine name, and worthy, to be sure, of the ship herself. What happened to your Dauntless, Commander?’

‘She was rusticated.’

‘Why?’

‘My wings had to be clipped.’ James tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

‘Can you imagine being confined to her, and watch her come to ruin, watch her rust away into nothing, and be absolutely powerless to help her?’ Jones spoke slowly, almost haltingly, and James realised, with a startling sense of compassion, that it was Jones’s voice that was markedly bitter.

‘Why do you remain here?’ James asked, before he could stop himself. ‘Why don’t you leave? There is a whole universe in which you could find peace.’

‘It would take an age,’ Jones said slowly, his expression strangely peaceful, ‘to explain all my reasons to one as young as you are. There was another, who is known to you, who once asked me the same question. I will tell you what I told him: suffice to say there is something I have lost, and which I believe you might help me retrieve.’

‘You say you’ve already asked this of someone else?’

‘He chose not to help me,’ Jones said, sounding almost amused. ‘He did not trust what I would do if I regained what I had lost.’

‘What is it that you’ve lost?’

‘That is not something you need to know,’ he said unequivocally. ‘I will not ask you for servitude, James Norrington, for it would be folly to expect so crude a thing from one such as you. I suspect Cutler Beckett has learnt that the hard way.’ 


	4. Chapter 4

_‘Listen,’ the voice whispered in his ear, and he sought to obey, keeping his eyes closed. The night rustled around them like the leaves of a book ruffled by the breeze, the ocean crashing against the sand, almost as if they were being called back to where they belonged. He said as much, and was hushed by a warm breath on his face. Hands caressed his skin as if searching for aches to soothe, as if mapping him to memory, as if leaving a mark of protection on his very being._

_They communicated through touch that night; James knew that if he spoke, he would say words that were forbidden to them, and Jack seemed to share that belief. Later, Jack drew his coat over them to keep out the cold. His fragrance clung to the fabric, that unique scent that made James feel that he could wander endlessly with Jack and never lose his way. But it was time for their paths to diverge, for Jack was leaving and James had chosen to stay._

 

\--

 

James struggled to get his eyes open, his head throbbing with pain. Jones’s first officer had not been gentle, but mercifully, he had been quick. A small hole had been drilled into James’s skull through his temple and a vile-smelling dark blue liquid injected into his brain, and Jones had assured him that in six hours, the substance would completely disable the identification codes on the electronic chip embedded in his brain. 

The chip itself was a marvel of technology, for it was not merely an identification device. Identification chips that were surgically placed under the subject’s skin had been in use for well over a century, but the ones used by Beckett’s Forces were rumoured to be able to record the very thoughts in a person’s memory. At the very least, it had been confirmed that the chip recorded the subject’s moods, particularly when there was a marked increase or decrease in the intensity of feelings such as joy, grief or anxiety.

James had never been able to verify if the speculations about the chip’s ability to record memories had any truth to them, but he had come to realise that he had perhaps unconsciously pushed away all those who had been close to him for fear that their association with him would endanger them. The loss of one such relationship had been particularly devastating, and even if he tried not to think consciously about it, memories crowded into his mind sometimes, almost crippling him with a sense of longing. It had been assuaged somewhat that day, but already the sense of peace he had felt on board the _Pearl_ was escaping him.

 

\--

 

Before James left the _Dutchman_ , he received a piece of news that changed everything. 

Jones’s first officer had given him a first aid kit with which James had fashioned himself a rudimentary bandage to stop the trickle of blood from the wound. It was then that he heard the excited jabber of conversation from the broadcast console in the common area through which Jones’s crew kept up with the news, and James learnt that there had been another attack by the anarchists that had destroyed the _Endeavour_. He joined the Captain and his crew as everyone crowded around the console, hanging on to every word spoken by the newscaster. While it was believed that the King had managed to exit his flagship before it was destroyed in the attack, it was clear that the destruction of the ship and the remainder of the vehicles that had formed its security entourage was being seen as an unequivocal sign that the King’s regime had crumbled.

James was barely able to react to the news at the time, since the procedure had left him with an almost overwhelming sense of nausea, and a throbbing headache in addition to the pain from the wound. 

He made his way out of the ship and into the sprawling underground, heading toward the crowded areas that the regime referred to as the 'ghettos'. Many of the long, rambling streets had ramshackle establishments that charged money or bartered goods in exchange for a place to stay, but James had no money and did not want to give up his weapon or mask. He knew, however, that the whole area had once had to be evacuated because the air supply to the tunnels in which the underground was located had once malfunctioned. Although the artificial atmosphere had since been restored, there were still many houses that were considered unsafe because the oxygen supply there was erratic. It was in these abandoned homes that many of the indigent residents of the underground had made their camps, and he found an unoccupied room with little difficulty. It had once obviously been a child’s room, and bore signs of a hurried departure: a small stuffed tortoise was tossed on the floor, perhaps a favourite toy. James collapsed on the dusty bed and sank into sleep.

 

\--

 

_The night before Jack left, over a year ago, there was no moon gracing the sky. The stars were faint pinpoints of light in the smog-filled night, and James almost believed they would soon flicker out entirely._

_Perhaps Jack had meant that last time that they'd made love as a punishment for James, to remind him of what he was losing, of what he'd given up. He had played James as a violinist works magic on his instrument, turning an inanimate object into something kinetic, something wonderful. He had found chords in James that had never been struck before, and never would be again. In the days and months since that night, James had often reflected on the desolate sense of beauty that Jack had left him with, reminding him of a line from a favourite poem: ‘Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.’_

_James had not expected to see Jack again. He had thought that his refusal to go with Jack would estrange them for good. He should have had more faith._

 

\--

 

It was late evening when James awoke. His watch confirmed this, although his surroundings did not. It was always dark in the underground, except for the dim artificial light that seeped through the enormous fan-like blades affixed to the ceilings of the tunnels, generating breathable air. The faint clacking noise made by the blades was so familiar to most inhabitants that they could ignore it, but James was conscious of it since it had been years since he had last been underground.

The bandage on his wound was soaked through with blood, and he cleaned it as best he could with water, since Bootstrap Bill had told him that no medicine could be applied without countering the effects of the solution. He reapplied the bandage using the first aid kit and went out in search of food. It was not yet thirty-six hours since he had been on the execution platform, but already the events of the previous day and his last meal on board the _Pearl_ seemed a lifetime away.

Other than his uniform and the boots Jack had given him, James had four items with him: the first-aid box, his watch, and the mask and pistol. Reluctant to part with the watch, for it had been a gift from Jack, James decided to pawn rather than sell it, hoping he would be able to go back for it someday. He could not afford to lose any of the other items that he had. Even if the regime had apparently fallen, his access to his accounts had been revoked when he’d been arrested, and could not be restored by anyone without military authority.

He went to the Faithful Bride, a tavern he’d frequented during his student days, when the underground had been the centre of bohemian activity in the city. It was the perfect place to blend into a crowd, for no one looked twice at anyone else inside the tavern. James hadn’t been able to wear his mask because of the bandage around his head, but it seemed unlikely that anyone would recognise him in the smoky environs of the crowded bar. 

The last time he had been there had also been his last time underground, and he was relieved to see that the Faithful Bride was as crowded and dimly-lit as ever. He ordered a cup of very strong coffee and a sandwich, and found a table at the back. He still had a couple of hours to wait before Jones’s treatment would take effect, and had no desire to go back to the stifling little room that he’d found. 

He bit into his sandwich and it was all he could do to keep from spitting the morsel out, for the food immediately brought his nausea back full-force. He swallowed a gulp of coffee to wash it down quickly, and as he set his cup down, became aware of someone’s gaze on him. He looked around as casually as he could, and it was barely a few seconds before he spotted her. Anamaria’s hair was shorter than he remembered it, but the black outfit she was wearing told him that she was still part of Jack’s crew, for it was almost identical to the one Jack had been wearing. 

Their gazes remained locked for a moment longer before she nodded slightly in acknowledgement and disappeared into the crowd. James was not surprised to see Jack shouldering his way toward him a minute later, for it seemed apparent that Anamaria had been on the lookout for James. Even before he breached the distance between them, James felt as if some of the weight had eased from his mind; Jack’s presence had become an instinctual source of comfort for him during the time that they had been together, and even now, after they had spent much time apart, James’s instincts reacted to Jack in their familiar, remembered way, insisting that he was safe with Jack, even though James could not honestly be sure about Jack’s feelings anymore.

Jack’s eyes were on the bandage around James’s head long before he was beside him, his fingers touching the dressing lightly as he leaned in close. ‘What happened?’

‘It’s a long story. What’re you doing here?’

‘James, what _happened_?’ 

‘Jones,’ James said, and seeing the murderous expression on Jack’s face, quickly outlined the events that had transpired since they had last seen each other.

‘You _let_ them hurt you? What the hell were you thinking?’ Jack whispered furiously, gripping the back of James’s neck, still standing beside him.

‘Calm down, Jack. I’m fine.’

‘Of all the idiotic things,’ Jack muttered, finally letting go of James and throwing himself into the red vinyl seat across the table.

James smiled faintly. ‘You didn’t come here just for me, did you.’

Jack shrugged, not meeting his eyes, his fingertips scratching idly at the tabletop. ‘I was in the neighbourhood.’

‘I don’t recall you mentioning that you’d be here.’

Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Stop cross-questioning me, Commander. Have a little faith.’ He pulled a flask out of his pocket. ‘And some rum as well,’ he grinned, pouring a large shot into his coffee. 

James raised an eyebrow. ‘If I wanted to drink, I would have.’

‘If I thought you could eat that sandwich, I wouldn’t be giving you rum,’ Jack said, his voice unusually subdued. His eyes flickered to James’s and then away, but a glimpse was all James needed to tell him that something of his weariness was revealed in his expression, and that Jack was anxious for him.

James took a sip from his mug, glad to feel the warmth of rum rushing through him. ‘Why are you here, Jack?’

‘Is it so terrible to want to make sure you don’t nearly get yourself killed again, for the second time in less than two days?’

‘I wish I could believe that was the only intention behind your being here,’ James said wearily, leaning his head back against his seat. 

Jack blinked, his face expressionless. ‘Does it matter?’

‘I don’t suppose it does.’

‘Drink up,’ Jack said, nodding at the mug, and James took another sip of the warming drink. ‘What next?’ Jack went on, as casually as if they’d been talking about the weather. 

‘I made a deal with Captain Jones, which I intend to honour.’

‘What sort of deal?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It does to me, you crazy fool,’ Jack said with undisguised affection, leaning forward to rest his hand on James’s. ‘If you’re going to go and do something idiotic, I want to know about it first.’

James smiled. ‘And who appointed you my guardian?’

Jack caressed James’s knuckles with his thumb. ‘Indulge me, James.’

‘I’m going to the walkway in about an hour, and that’s all I can divulge at present.’

‘You’re going above ground.’ Jack didn’t sound surprised.

‘Yes, I am.’

Jack nodded, as if he’d been expecting the answer. ‘Now that the king’s gone, you can command the Strike Force again.’

‘That’s not why I want to go up there.’

Jack raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

‘I’ve still got this chip in my brain. I can’t put my finger on the reason, but I don’t trust Jones entirely. I’ll need access to the tech to verify if the identification codes on the chip have actually been disabled. If not—’

‘—you’ll be a walking target for the rest of your life,’ Jack finished.

‘Something like that, yes.’

Jack nodded to show James that he had understood, and they finished their drinks in companionable silence. Jack’s hand remained on James’s for a while, its warm weight more soothing than words might have been.

 

\--

 

An hour later, it was time to test whether Captain Jones’s treatment had been successful. Jack walked part of the way with James as he headed to the walkway, his hand brushing against James’s every so often. James fought back the desire to link his fingers through Jack’s, for he had to remain focused on the task that lay ahead. 

They came to a fork in their path and paused, turning to face each other. ‘Careful,’ Jack said simply. James nodded, hesitating for a moment; it seemed strange to part from Jack without a touch of some kind, so he held out his hand. Jack took it, but then pulled James into his arms for a brief, tight hug. 

They parted without any more words, and James continued alone down the path on the right that led to the walkway, while Jack took the path on the left. James turned back briefly once, but Jack was already lost in the crowd.

Pushing his longings aside, James went to rebuild his world.


	5. Chapter 5

_‘Don’t,’ Jack had said over a year ago, the moment James had told him about the procedure. ‘Once you let them put that chip in your head, they’ll own you.’_

_‘I don’t have a choice, Jack.’ James ran his hands through his hair in frustration, leaning back against the large transparent window in Jack’s cabin, turning his back to the stars as he looked at Jack. ‘The King considers me a loyal subject, and loyal subjects do as they’re told. If I don’t agree to it, I’ll never be trusted with their access codes. There’s no way to infiltrate any of the military bases without those codes.’_

_‘He’ll suspect. He’ll find out, and he won’t hesitate to kill you when he does.’_

_‘I don’t think Cutler will kill me.’_

_‘So it’s ‘Cutler’ now, is it?’ Jack asked, no trace of emotion in his voice._

_‘Considering that you’re leaving, I don’t think you get to tell me whom I can be on a first-name basis with,’ James said sharply._

_‘I’m sorry,’ Jack said, immediately contrite, and James narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t like Jack to give in so easily, especially when James’s words had been somewhat unfair._

_Jack came up to James, resting his hands against the glass on either side of James’s shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, resting his forehead against James’s. ‘I worry. You’re playing a dangerous game. If they find out...’_

_‘They won’t. I’ll be careful.’ James gripped the back of Jack’s neck, more on edge than he’d been for a long time._

_‘Can we please fuck first, and argue about this later?’ Jack’s hands slid beneath James’s uniform, gliding up his back. ‘Or we could argue while we fuck.’_

_It was quick, gratifying sex, one of those times that they just reached for each other because there was no other way to communicate, because there was no sensation comparable with Jack’s skin against James’s. James held Jack’s hands against the glass window as he took Jack from behind, trapping Jack between his body and the stars. He fisted a hand in Jack’s long, loose hair and held his head in place as he traced the shell of Jack’s ear with his tongue and murmured all the sensual obscenities that turned Jack on; he made him beg to be allowed to come, because Jack loved it, because it excited them both; because there was nothing he liked more than holding Jack against him as he came apart in James’s arms and unravelled James with him; because they’d given each other the privilege of ownership, in this if in nothing else._

 

\--

 

The planet was recovering slowly. Three months after the destruction of the _Endeavour_ and the crumbling of the totalitarian regime, there were still supporters of the former king who insisted that he would be back someday to claim his throne, but their voices were disunited now that there was no longer an emblem to represent their ideology.

The underground was, for the first time in a decade, being treated as a legitimate part of the planet. Air supply to the former ghettos was no longer unofficial, and James hoped that none of its colonies would ever have to be evacuated again for want of oxygen. During his frequent visits to the lower levels to oversee the reconstruction work there, he had also discovered that Davy Jones and the _Dutchman_ had vanished. It was strange to think of the labyrinthine streets of the underground without the presence of the enigmatic Captain and his ship, but James hoped that Jones had found a means to pursue the peace that he had clearly needed so desperately.

James had had no word from Jack. In the first few days after the king’s downfall, he had been too involved in trying to sort out the mayhem on the planet to spend much time worrying about where Jack might have gone. Now that things were slowly stabilising, James found himself thinking more and more about Jack, and wondering why he hadn’t stayed, and whether he would ever come back.

One night, he was opening a can of cat food for Minerva in the kitchen when there was a knock on the door: the _balcony_ door, thirty floors above the ground.

Minerva and James looked at each other. ‘Well?’ he asked. 

She purred.

James opened the door, and gazed for a moment at the figure outside. 

‘You’re late,’ he said.

‘I can’t stay,’ Jack said. ‘I want you to come with me to my ship, where I want to fuck you until we both collapse from exhaustion. After that, we can talk.’

‘Aye aye, Captain,’ James said.

 

\--

 

Several hours later they were in Jack’s cabin, the Earth framed once again in the window, only this time they were speeding away from the planet rather than going into orbit around it. 

‘I forgot to ask,’ Jack said from where he was standing beside the window. ‘What did Jones ask from you in return for his help?’

‘I gave him my word that when the time comes to help him retrieve what he’s lost, I’ll go to his aid. And I mean to honour that promise, if he ever calls for me.’

Jack nodded. ‘I almost hope he does. Never could resist the lure of danger and excitement,’ he said with a wink. ‘So,’ he continued. ‘You won the freedom you wanted.’

‘Beckett’s still missing. If I know him, he’s going to want his kingdom back.’

‘Maybe he’ll find a new playground somewhere else. He’s easily distracted.’

‘Maybe.’ James sat up in bed. ‘Come here, Jack.’ He reached for Jack, who climbed back into bed and straddled James, linking his fingers behind James’s neck and kissing him languidly.

‘So, I guess you haven’t been playing anarchist recently?’ James asked when they pulled apart to breathe.

Jack laughed uproariously. ‘No more need to play anarchist.’ He grinned his lazy, affectionate grin, his fingers slipping into James's hair. 

‘Why did you do it?’ James asked, even though he suspected he knew the answer already. ‘You always claimed you couldn’t care less about politics.’

‘There are some things even a blackguard like me cares about.’ Jack gave him a quick kiss on the lips. ‘What about your post? As Commander?’ he asked suddenly, seriously. ‘You won’t want to go back to it?’

James looked at the stars surrounding them, thinking that the same view could be either desolation or freedom, depending on how one looked at it. He shook his head. ‘Actually, I failed at what I’d been trying to do.’ 

‘Did you?’ Jack’s eyes caught James’s gaze, held it for a long moment.

James rested his forehead against Jack’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. ‘I had thought I would be able to forget. To lose what was most precious to me, and replace it with a cause. I couldn’t.’

‘Thank the stars for that,’ Jack said, rolling them over so he was on top and bending his head to kiss James, his hair spilling around their faces. The ship purred softly around them, and the universe seemed to beckon.


End file.
